


Feeding the Fire

by my_angry_angel



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_angry_angel/pseuds/my_angry_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik finds himself in a precarious position after berating Altair for alerting the city to his presence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Characters belong to Ubisoft

Malik was angry. He could remember that much, but with Altair’s long fingers inside him, brushing every tender spot within him just right, it was hard to hold onto that anger, let alone the reason.

He bit down on one of the cushions to keep from crying out. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. He just didn’t want to give the other assassin the satisfaction of just how good it felt.

“Come on, Malik,” Altair whispered into his ear. The sensation of warm breath on his ear sent shivers down Malik’s spine. He felt Altair’s scarred lips curve into a smile against his neck.

So, the arrogant bastard had felt that tremor. Just because it felt good didn’t mean Malik wanted it. “Let me up,” he snarled, struggling to roll away from Altair.

“Let it feel good,” Altair whispered, pressing down on Malik’s back with his free arm while crooking his fingers.

The Dai groaned out a curse, his body arching involuntarily as Altair’s fingers hit the perfect spot inside him. Another smirk touched the other assassin’s lips and suddenly his fingers seemed to multiply. Even the slightest motion pushed them against that tender bundle of nerves. Malik couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure.

What had started out as pleasant heat in his belly was turning into burning pressure. It was building, pushing him toward the edge of sanity. But still the other assassin didn’t stop. He was close, so close. He couldn’t hold on. Couldn’t--

“You can,” Altair growled, nipping at his ear. Had he spoken out loud? Malik was so strung out, he couldn’t even separate thought from words. He hung his head, shoving his hips back to the penetration.

Then suddenly, the fingers were gone, leaving the Dai with muscles twitching for more, thighs slick with the oil Altair had used for lubricant. He tried to look over his shoulder, but the other assassin fisted his hand in Malik’s hair, forcing him to face forward. “You didn’t want this,” Altair whispered as he knelt between the other’s legs, his knees forcing Malik’s legs apart. “You don’t get to watch.” The one-armed assassin shook his head quickly, trying to free his hair from that grip.

As Altair’s fingers released his hair, time slowed to a standstill. Malik had all the time in the world to feel as the other assassin snapped his hips forward, shoving himself deep into the Dai.

A scream of bliss built in Malik’s throat. A lifetime later, it burst forth, just as Altair hilted himself. In that same instant, the other assassin gripped in his hair again and shoved his face into the cushion, muffling the scream. Then he started moving, and fire spread through Malik’s body. After being brought so close before, it only took a few thrusts to push him over the edge with another scream.

The Dai felt his muscles spasm on Altair’s dick as his orgasm overwhelmed him, but the other assassin kept moving. It hurt, but caught up in the throes of passion as he was, even the pain translated into ecstasy.

It felt like hours before the fire finally cooled and Malik realized Altair was still moving. He’d slowed his hips, but was no less rough. Malik could feel the other assassin’s muscles bunching a second before he thrust, each one driving into the center of his body.

He cried out into the cushion, begging for mercy. Surely Altair must know it was his first time. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to decided if it felt amazing or hurt like hell. Each thrust brought him equal measures of pleasure and pain. Allah it was good, but it hurt so bad. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

“Enough,” Altair answered. Malik blushed furiously as he realized he’d been speaking out loud again.

He wanted mercy, and he needed this to never end.

He needed it to end, and he wanted it to go on forever.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, Altair became much gentler, though he still thrust into that sensitive spot within Malik. The pain slowly faded into a dull ache, and another blush touched his cheeks as the Dai realized he missed it. “Don’t stop,” he groaned, his face still pressed to the cushion, his voice rough.

“Are you sure?” Altair asked, his own voice strained as he fought to hold himself back. The Dai nodded and pushed his hips back to the other assassin. After one last gentle thrust, Altair started pounding into him again, harder than before. Malik screamed and arched his back. Altair was murmuring heatedly into his ear, but between his screams and ragged gasps for breath, Malik could only understand one in every few words.

He felt that pressure building again, faster than before. The other assassin’s thrusts were growing erratic, some harder than others, but they all felt like Altair was trying to fuck him through the floor. Malik was screaming the other assassin’s name repeatedly, gripping at the cushion below him like it would help him keep his sanity.

He bit at the cushion as his orgasm came upon him again, the fabric tearing away in his teeth. Altair suddenly went tense, his body quivering, as a liquid heat spread through Malik’s belly. Altair slumped down on top of the Dai, who collapsed under his weight. His breath came in quick, shaky gasps, and the assassin on top of him didn’t seem to be in much better shape.

As the afterglow of his climax faded, Malik realized just how sore he was. Even breathing caused both of their bodies to shift, sending a sharp pain through his ass. His head hurt from how hard Altair had pulled his hair, and he was so tired he could barely move.

“Get off of me,” he panted, trying vainly to push Altair off of him. A soft snore told him the other assassin was already asleep. He groaned, trying once more to shove Altair off, but his body didn’t seem to want to obey.

A second before he fell into a deep sleep, he heard a patrol of guards pass outside the bureau, looking for an assassin.

He remembered why he was so mad at Altair.


End file.
